


The Cartel Catastrophe

by Kryik (trialtest)



Category: Diary of a Wimpy Kid Series - Jeff Kinney
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crimes & Criminals, Drugs, Gen, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trialtest/pseuds/Kryik
Summary: Greg Heffley's normal life is turned upside down once his mother fails to return from a routine shopping trip. Can he, a high school freshman, manage to survive school, evade the police, and take down a ruthless drug supplier all at once?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> aka. The Heffley Family's Drug Dealing Dilemma
> 
> The opinions expressed in this work are not indicative of my personal beliefs. Greg is a 14 year old teenager, otherwise known as a little shit personified. Expect him to act like one.

**Saturday**

I killed my first person today.

It's 3 AM, and my hands are shaking. I can't even hold my pencil straight. My heart's trying to jump out of my chest, and I'm breathing so fast that I probably reached some fucked up carbon dioxide-oxygen singularity.

I'm hiding under my covers right now. The blinds are closed. Manny's old nightlight ( _just tonight, I swear_ ) covers my room with a soft glow, but it doesn't do anything about the vomit that's stuck in the back of my throat. The harsh light of my phone shows my sweat softening the paper of this diary in a hand-shaped impression. Looks like the next few days are gonna be wrinkled.

My name is Greg Heffley. I'm only 14. I'm a freshman at Crossland High School. I like playing video games, watching TV, and religiously browsing Reddit. I've held the speedrun any% record for Twisted Wizards 3 for two hours straight. And I bet I can beat anyone head to head at my school on any game I've played.

Mom and Dad were always kinda mad at me for spending all my time on the screen. At least I wasn't like my older brother, Rodrick. He has his own rock band, Löded Diper. He listens to music that I'm pretty sure is just a string of curse words. I bet he also vapes and smokes pot. But that doesn't compare to what I did today. I'd like to say that I'm not a killer.

I'm not a murderer.

I wish it was true.

* * *

I guess Mom was right. Sleep _does_ make you feel better. It's only now that I'm starting to be grateful for her advice, ever since she disappeared a month ago. That's what everyone else thinks. Only me, Dad, and Rodrick know that she was kidnapped by some mega cartel.

It was a Monday. At 2:30, she'd leave to go to the store five blocks away to buy whatever gluten free, salt-free health food for the week. Our family hated the stuff - Rodrick lived on the chips and soda he hid in his truck. Dad ate enough at McDonalds to make it a second home. Only me and Manny were stuck gagging bland, coarse grains of quinoa-kale-chia casserole down our throats.

That stuff takes a toll on you, I swear. My tongue probably shriveled up months ago from the lack of flavor.

It's like every Mommy mag preaches feeding your family superfoods, like some legal Xanax for hyperactive kids. If I ruled the country, I'd make it illegal to deprive your kid from the amount of sugar in three Snickers a day. I'd make feeding your kid bland shit psychological warfare, outlawed by the Geneva Conventions and a dozen other laws. 

Sugar is, in my opinion, an essential nutrient for survival. The night before Mom had been snatched, she and I had faught over her grocery choices. I presented my arguments - pretty convincingly if I say so myself - to her. She shut me down, telling me that I'd thank her when I got out of college.

I wouldn't even graduate from high school in another _four years_ , I replied.

Mom didn't accept the rebuttal. She grounded me for two weeks for "insubordination".

Dad noticed that something wasn't right the moment he stepped through the door connecting the garage to the laundry room. He always got home by 6, on the dot. The lack of that trademark stench of boiled bean burgers or whatever Mom copied online tipped him off, I think.

I was busy trying to beat Twisted Wizard 4's City of Shadows DLC, so I didn't notice anything wrong until Dad was asking me about Mom in a tone I've never heard in my life. He sounded _scared_. Dad might've preferred building his WWI figures in the basement compared to some horror movie, but he'd never flinch at the stuff I'd see in my nightmares.

He shook down Manny and Rodrick for where Mom was, but nobody knew. It was then when our phone in the kitchen rang. Dad took the call. He started off with a polite "Hello?", then started speaking with his "Let's talk, _Friend_." voice I've heard only once before.

A year ago, some guy who looked like Rodrick on meth (That anti drug speech they had in middle school _scarred_ me.) tried to mug me and Dad in a parking lot. He pulled out this wicked sharp knife and told us to hand over our wallets, _or else_ . Lucky (or, unlucky) for me, I was, as always, broke. Dad, however, _had words_ for this guy. I didn't hear what he said, because he dragged the mugger to a nearby alley, but the Rodrick lookalike was bawling by the time Dad told me to get in the car. If Dad could get some hardened thug begging for forgiveness, I sure as heck didn't want his wrath. I stopped fooling around around him since then.

But when Dad used that same tone again on the phone, I knew something was up. As far as I know, he only used that voice for people waving knives at us. That had to be serious.

Dad hated us eavesdropping on our phone calls, but curiosity got the better of me. I pressed myself against the kitchen entrance and listened.

Looking back, I regret it. I guess nothing would've changed even if I hadn't heard what happened to Mom. I mean, she's still kidnapped to who-knows-where, under the watchful eye of some huge drug dealing organization. Dad's still working with the drug people on the side, sending papers to suspicious people at 4 AM. And I still killed Dad's coworker in our own home.

I feel better now after 9 hours of sleep. I'm kind of in a haze right now. Some part of me thinks that this is all some sick nightmare, with me in a coma for the past month. Like I just gotta pinch myself hard in the cheek and it'll all go away. I'll have to deal with Mom's crazy ideas to get me a role model and stuff, but I'll take that any day now. Though she probably won't forgive me for bludgeoning someone, dream or not. I'll still take it. I hate to say this, but I really, really miss her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sunday**

Those people took the body from us last night. Me and Dad only had to have Mr. Brinesworth at our house for dinner, then take him out after he drank three bottles of Dad's finest. Thank goodness we didn't have to clean up the corpse of Mr. Brinesworth ourselves. My only experience with dead bodies before this was the 2 seasons of Dateline I binge watched, and I doubt Dad ever thought of listing “Serial Killer” as one of his dream jobs.

Did you know that bashing someone’s skull in with a bat sounds like snapping celery with a side of peanut brittle? And I did it over and over again, like I was making some fucked up ASMR video. I saw Mr. Brinesworth's eyes as I did it. The life in his eyes looked like the insides of an egg slowly leaking out, until there wasn't anything left in them. They looked like that ghost from one of those horror movies I snagged from Rodrick. I'm definitely not watching those anymore.

It took a few seconds for Dad's coworker to stop twitching like a bug and become still. It took a few more seconds to realize that I'd  _ actually done it _ . A few seconds later, I threw up. On Mr. Brinesworth's body, of course. Dad wasn't too happy, but how could he? He'd just seen me, his son, kill some guy he'd known for years. But it was orders from the group that had Mom. It was either her or him, and we both made the choice.

Dad moved like a robot as he carried the guy and zipped him up in a body bag they'd given us. He told me to clean up the spots of blood and vomit left on the kitchen. I didn't do a good job. I heard the police had luminol that'd show leftover blood as a purple glow. Slam-dunk evidence that'd put Manny in a foster home. Dad's gonna get pissed at me if this ever shows up in court, but can he blame me? I'm the second worst vaccummer in the house, after Rodrick.

So these two guys come in our driveway with one of those pizza triangles taped on the top of their car. They've got the logo and everything down, even though I've never heard of that joint in my life. As planned, they rang the doorbell and took the body bag in their car, then drove away. The whole thing took a minute, max. As far as I knew, it looked like Dad was getting a hot, greasy pizza to our neighbors.

After that, Dad had called me and Rodrick into the kitchen for a "family discussion". Manny would've sold us out the moment he got back into preschool tomorrow if he'd heard, so Dad tucked him into bed after giving him a cup of hot chocolate. Manny got a cup of that yesterday, too, when Mr. Brinesworth came over for dinner. Manny's a light sleeper, so I'm not sure  _ how  _ he stayed in bed for two nights in a row. My thoughts? Whatever's in the "hot chocolate" is powerful stuff.

Dad told us the usual stuff I expected. "Don't tell anyone.", "It's all for Mom.", and "Just act normal in front of the police when they inevitably come after learning that Mr. Brinesworth was last seen in the Heffley's household." were a few of the phrases he tossed out. Okay, when Dad mentioned the police, I got scared a bit. I thought they'd put me in with the murderers if they caught me stealing free cupcakes from the store. I'm laughing at third grade me now, but dealing with the police is something I'd love to avoid. Especially when I did do a crime.

A week ago, Albert Sandy told our lunch table that people in prison try not to drop the soap, or else they'd… It makes me gag to think about it. I'm a little skinny and weak for my age, so I know that I'd lose my ability to hold it forever after a day in prison. The people in Dateline always catch the criminals, so it's only a matter of time before I'll end up in the hospital for butt surgery. It's too late now to rat out Dad for working with the cartel, since I've got blood on my hands. I'll just have to do my best to fool the guys investigating us.

I've got school tomorrow. Hopefully, I won't act weird like when Ruby Bird started smearing pig blood everywhere.

* * *

**Monday**

In my opinion, high school biology doesn't  _ compare  _ to what I did a year ago. Back in 8th grade, I'd coast by writing some stupid report about how plants needed sunlight to live. Now, apparently, the teachers want us to actually do smart people things instead of putting the obvious on a font size 36 research project. Mrs. Strelitzia told us we'd be dissecting rats with a partner today, then pointing out their organs in front of her for a grade. I don't know about you, but I'd fear for my life if I learned that a group of 26 regular class freshmen got their hands on pins, scalpels, and rat corpses. Advanced Placement kids might be able to find a cure for rodent cancer (if that existed), but I'm pretty confident that all we'd end up doing was have a fighting ring where the loser got pelted by rat livers.

I wasn't far off. I partnered up with Rowley, my friend since 6th grade, since he gets freaked out at any mention of violence. I once showed him Moral Kombat's gameplay trailer, but he fainted by the 25 second mark. Also since, well, he's my friend. He's goofy and bad at video games, but he's stuck with me for years.

I divided up the work so that I'd do the cutting, and Rowley would tell the teacher his answers. A fair deal, since Rowley hated blood and I thought a pancreas was the thing that fried your brain cells after three hours of math. Rowley was worried since I didn't bother reading how to cut up the rat, but he shut up after I explained how my many hours of Surgeon Simulator gave me a de facto (I learned that in English) medical degree. Meanwhile, as I guessed, at least half the room started jacking off with their tools. These two guys started jousting while others were placing bets. Mrs. Strelitzia was nowhere to be found. To be honest, I would've done the same - guzzling coke in the teacher's lounge sounded way better than getting sliced to pieces.

Our rat (Rowley started calling it Fluffy) was laid on the board. I pinned its limbs through the foam so Fluffy wouldn't roll over and hovered the blade above its chest. I was fine until I made the mistake of staring at its eyes. Its cold, dead eyes that looked like Mr. Brinesworth's. I don't remember much after that, but Rowley told me in the nurse's office that I started freaking out and blabbing about how I didn't do it. Eventually, someone called over the school nurse to carry me out. According to Rowley,  _ everyone  _ got out of their class to see what was going on.

My social life is _ruined._ I'm gonna be like an Ruby Bird or Fregley level weirdo. Rodrick told me about how a freshman girl got caught going down on the fattest guy in her grade. She  _ never _ lived it down, and legend says that she pimped out herself, since no real company would give her a job. I'm gonna be known as the guy who's fucking scared of rats for the rest of high school!

Rodrick's already started trash talking me the moment he walked in the house. He said he'd heard that I pissed myself and fainted the moment I learned I was gonna dissect a rat. I told him that at least I'd never get a 420 on my SAT. Rodrick's starting to realize that his scores aren't gonna cut it after checking out colleges to apply for. He started studying his butt off for a retake this December, but I'm not sure if he can catch up on the 18 years of missed classwork.

Luckily for me, Rodrick's been less of a jerk. My PSAT's are coming up in a year, so I reasoned I'd got plenty of time to study later, and enjoy Twisted Wizard in my prime. Until I blacked out because of that fucking rat today. I'm gonna have to convince Dad let me homeschool myself and pay for some plastic surgery before shit covers the fan.


End file.
